


Communal Living

by sc010f



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post Reichenbach, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:56:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sc010f/pseuds/sc010f
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John readjusts to having a flatmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Communal Living

John has lived in communal housing for long enough to know when to be selectively blind and deaf. It doesn't mean that he can't kick up a fuss at a head in the fridge, or toes in the sink, though. Because, really – there _are_ limits. Sherlock showing up eighteen months after plummeting from the top of St Bart's should be one of them, but other than John not speaking to him for a month, it's not. And that should be weird, but it isn't, because… John's given it some thought and after three months, he decides it's not weird because it's _Sherlock_.

It seems that things are, in fact, back to normal. Sherlock's an annoying git at the best of times and an absolute dickhead at the worst of times. But the toes are back in the sink and the spleen in the colander, so it's… typical. John shrinks from the thought of calling it normal, but it's almost too easy to fall back into the old patters: he gripes at Sherlock leaving disgusting things around the flat, the loud noises, pops, and bangs, and his general Sherlockness, and it's all… fine. 

The habit Sherlock's developed of wandering around the flat starkers is also something John's objected to. Although not as loudly as he has the toes or the head. At least the fingers were in a plastic bag. 

What John doesn't object to, however, is Sherlock's habit of semi-public masturbation. Okay, not really semi-public, it is in the privacy of the shower, but honestly, he leaves the door _open_.

John can stand happening across the occasional cum encrusted sock on the floor, but not the full on show that Sherlock's giving him. And he knows he shouldn't have stopped to stare – all he really needed was a q-tip – but dear God, it's an arresting sight through the glass:

Sherlock's hand is braced against the wall, his head bent, as he strokes himself, first gently, stretching and tugging, his hand sliding down his hardening cock, pushing the heel of his hand against the shaft. Then he starts using fuller strokes, with his whole hand, squeezing gently as he moves his hand up and down. Sherlock takes a breath, bites his lip, hard, and begins to fondle his balls. John wonders if Sherlock likes a finger in his arse, too, and nearly gasps when Sherlock moves his hand back. 

Oh, he does. John gives up on any kind of subtlety and leans against the doorframe, palming his cock through his jeans. He's more than happy to watch as Sherlock steadily fucks his fist, his hips moving slowly back and forth, pulling back his foreskin to reveal a fat head. John rubs harder as Sherlock squeezes at his cock. He's fully retracted now and John licks his lips, wondering what Sherlock tastes like. He's too far away to see if Sherlock's cock is leaking, but he's willing to bet that it is. 

Sherlock's stroking himself harder now: a rhythm of four sharp tugs and then a break, and then another four and a break. John unzips his fly and plunges his hand down into his pants, stroking his own cock, rolling the foreskin gently with his fingers teasing himself as he watches Sherlock's free hand tighten against the tiles, scrabbling for purpose as he comes with a strangled gasp. 

Sherlock lets out a muted groan as he milks the last of his orgasm, pressing his hands against the slick tiles as he tries to regain his equilibrium. Even from the distance of the doorway, John can see that he looks absolutely wrecked. John squeezes his cock harder. 

Suddenly, Sherlock looks up and sees him. 

This was not…

Sherlock grins and any thoughts John may have had of a tactical retreat flee as Sherlock turns off the shower and steps out. 

John's really not sure what to say as Sherlock pulls him into the steamy bathroom and pulls down his jeans and pants. A startled squawk seems to be about all he's capable of as Sherlock pulls at his cock, mouthing at John's neck, his free hand reaching around to grope John's arse. 

Things become a bit of a blur after that. John's aware of tearing off his shirt so Sherlock can bite and tongue at his nipples. He's aware of Sherlock pulling him to the toilet and spinning around, planting a leg up on the lid, exposing his arse. He's aware of the bottle of baby oil Sherlock has in his hand. He's aware of Sherlock's oil-slicked fingers opening himself up. John can't help but watch, stunned and fascinated as Sherlock's arsehole takes his fingers, stretches and opens as Sherlock throws his head back, giving the most wanton moan that John's heard in… well, ever. 

John's suddenly aware of Sherlock bringing his leg down from the toilet lid, bending over, bracing himself against the toilet. 

"You want this, you want to fuck me, John, I know," Sherlock gasps, bringing a slick hand to his cock which, John notices, is hard again. 

Jeans and pants bound around his shoes, _Christ, I'm still wearing my shoes and socks!_ , John shuffles forward. His cock is painfully hard, leaking now as he lines himself up against Sherlock's entrance.

Sherlock is slick, open, hot and tight against him as John slides in. 

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

All John can do is give in to the pull and push, the thrust and tug of Sherlock. He's vaguely aware that there are sounds coming out of his mouth, but damned if he knows what he's actually _saying_ as he chases his climax. Dimly, he's aware of Sherlock coming _again_ , and tightening around his cock, and God, it's enough to send John toppling over the edge, and he's coming and coming, and someone is shouting, and it might be him. 

Carefully, slowly, John pulls out, panting as Sherlock grunts. Cum is leaking out of Sherlock's arsehole and John watches, fascinated, as Sherlock's head droops, and his legs threaten to give way. 

Fuck if it's not the hottest thing John's seen. 

Sherlock chuckles and straightens up. He brushes past John and turns on the shower again. 

"There's enough hot water for both of us," he says as he steps back into the shower. "If you join me."

John stares at him, dumbfounded, until he comes down to earth with a thump. A moment of deliberation is all it takes for him to pull up his jeans and pants, sit down on the closed toilet seat lid and pull of his shoes and socks. Kicking off his clothes, he presses into the shower, aware of the smell of sex and sweat and shampoo and baby-oil and _Sherlock_. 

The hot water _does_ give out, actually, but it turns out not to be a disaster as Sherlock steers them down the hall to his bedroom. 

Naked, they crawl beneath Sherlock's duvet and sheets. 

Naked, John curls up behind Sherlock, burying his nose in his neck. 

"So, um…," John starts to ask. "We going to talk about this?"

Sherlock grunts. "Why?" he asks. "You fucked me, we're sleeping together now, really, John, it's not _that_ complicated."

"Oh," John says. "But it's _you_. You don't do…"

"I do," Sherlock says, sounding more than a little miffed. "You just never noticed because you're so thick."

"So now, you've decided we…"

"Yes. Problem?"

"Erm…" For the life of him, John cannot think of a single objection. He knows there should be about a hundred of them, but right now, in the haze and exhaustion of a frankly amazing fuck, he can't come up with one. Perhaps tomorrow. But until then, naked, they drift off to sleep as London rushes past them outside and the rain begins to smack at the windows.

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine, no money. Really, just an excuse for John/Sherlock smut. Nothing more to see here.


End file.
